


Dean's Days Off

by MittenWraith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Case, Bees, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Human Castiel, M/M, POV Castiel, Pie, and is unapologetic about that, author is incapable of not using the bees tag, but only a little bit of feelings-adjacent angst because these guys can be idiots, but to be fair this is imitation pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 15:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11947284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: For years, "Goin' out for a drink" had been Dean's standard excuse whenever he needed a little time alone. When Cas raised him from Hell and was ordered to keep an eye on the Righteous Man, Dean's strange little ritual escapes from the drudgery and horror of his everyday life intrigued the angel. He'd secretly watched the man who was destined to save the world try to save himself, one small adventure at a time, and learned some of his greatest lessons in what it means to be human in the process. Ten years later, he figured it was about time to come clean-- for both of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this story from [this post](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/151294553400/day-19-head-canon) nearly a year ago, and I've been taking weird little notes for it ever since. I'm kinda sad I wrote it all out, and I don't have an excuse to dwell on it anymore. Maybe that's why it took so long to write. It is a happy place. :)

It had been several weeks since Cas had fallen from Heaven and landed permanently in the bunker when the opportunity he’d been looking forward to with equal measures of anticipation and dread finally came to pass. Cas had been watching over Dean Winchester for nearly ten years, and he knew almost all of Dean’s secrets. This one in particular had long intrigued him, mostly because it was something that Dean had never shared with  _ anyone _ , and Cas wasn’t sure how Dean would take the news that he’d been in on his most closely guarded secret all along.

In the beginning Cas hadn’t comprehended that it was even supposed to  _ be _ a secret. His assignment from Zachariah had been to observe and report on Dean’s activities. It had given him ample opportunity to learn that there were some things that Dean went to great pains to conceal. Cas may not have understood his reasons at first, but he’d done his best to respect Dean’s personal space to the best of his ability, and never mentioned these unusual occurrences to anyone-- including Dean. As the years went on, it became just one more aspect of Dean that he’d grown to admire.

Now that he was human too, and spending nearly all his time in Dean’s company, he thought it might finally be something he could share with Dean for real, instead of as Dean’s invisible shadow, or his guardian angel.

They’d driven all the way out to the northern California coast to hunt a creature who’d flung a few hikers off a mountain trail and chased several others across a remote stretch of recently washed-out hillside. It turned out to be the vengeful spirit of a gold rush miner. The trickiest part of the hunt was finding the old collapsed mine shaft where the man’s bones had been hidden for nearly a century before the cranky ghost was roused from his rest. A rockslide had dislodged about half his skeleton, and finding the other half buried in the rubble of a treacherously shifting cliffside while also dodging a pickaxe-wielding spirit had meant several days of rather unconventional grave digging under the relentless July sun. In some ways it was easier than digging straight down into hard packed earth, but tunneling sideways into an unstable hillside perched a few hundred feet above a rocky trickle of a creek bed had put their endurance to the test. After two days of illegally camping out by the site and then hiking back out of the wilderness with all their gear-- minus a few pounds of salt, a gallon of gasoline, and pretty much every scrap of food they'd hiked in with-- none of them had been ready to climb back in the car for an extended road trip.

“I need a shower and a real bed, and possibly a chiropractor,” Sam said as he’d tossed his pack into the trunk of the Impala, and then stretched until his spine made several audible popping sounds and he sighed in relief.

“And food,” Dean said. “Something that wasn’t cooked on a stick over a campfire.”

“And coffee,” Cas added.

Dean groaned. “Maybe in the morning. Last thing I need right now is to finally get in a real bed and be too buzzed to sleep.”

“There’s always decaf,” Cas countered.

“If we learned about decaf from the goats, you can tell them I said they can keep it,” Dean replied.

Sam checked the GPS and found the nearest town with any sort of lodging, and Dean blearily steered them westward into civilization. He pulled into the parking lot of the first motel they came across, and nobody complained that it looked to be at least two steps up from their standard motel fare. After two nights camping in the wilderness, they agreed they deserved it. They’d probably only be spending the one night there, long enough to clean up and recuperate from their labors enough to move on to their next hunt. 

Or at least that had been the plan. Driving halfway across the country to take care of one sad old ghost hardly seemed worth the trip, but they’d also heard rumors of a potential werewolf case a couple hundred miles north in Oregon that merited investigating. Salting and burning Stinky Pete had been a convenient diversion to kill some time before the full moon, and they’d still finished with three days to spare. The most pressing matter they had to deal with now was whether they spent those next three days in this little mountain tourist trap of a town paying more than they needed to for a motel room, or if they should head out as soon as possible to get a jump start on their werewolf hunt. It was late when they’d checked in, and nobody felt up to debating any move more involved than which of them called dibs on the bathroom.

Sam took the first shower and then sprawled out over one of the two queen sized beds while Dean let Cas shower next. Dean was too busy meticulously cleaning the dust and dirt from his weapons at the room’s small desk to worry whether there would even be any hot water left for himself.

Cas knew he was probably spending too long in the shower, but after three days of sweaty, sticky, grimy, back-breaking work, the hotel’s impressive water pressure felt too good to relinquish hastily.  He washed away the dust and luxuriated in the feel of the hot water pounding into his aching muscles. Even after giving himself  _ just one more minute _ at least three or four times, he finally shut off the water when his fingertips went all squishy and wrinkly. The water had miraculously not even begun to cool off, and he hoped his indulgence didn’t mean that Dean would be in for a suddenly unpleasantly cold shower.

He opened the door in a cloud of soapy-scented steam only to find Dean still sitting at the desk, his head bowed over his tidily arranged and sparkling clean weapons. At first Cas thought he was praying, and then realized that Dean had simply nodded off while waiting for his turn in the bathroom. Cas grimaced and sighed, again feeling selfish for taking so long. Dean surely was just as tired and sore as he felt, so he didn’t waste any more time, walking across the room and gently laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder to rouse him.

“Dean?” he said quietly and cautiously, both to keep from waking Sam who was snoring softly now, as well as to keep from startling Dean while he had an array of weapons in front of him and the hunting instincts to reach for one of them if he was jolted out of his sleep too suddenly. Cas knew just the right touch to apply from years of observation and practice, and Dean snuffled and roused, blinking up at him before rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“‘Sup Cas.” Dean squinted around around the room, reorienting himself, and then carefully collected his weapons and returned them to his duffel.

“The bathroom is free,” Cas said, and Dean smiled at him, snatching a clean set of clothes from his bag before patting Cas on the shoulder and shuffling off to shower.

Cas considered his options, taking one look at Sam stretched out diagonally across one of the two beds, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish. That left the remaining bed for him to share with Dean. It had been awkward the first time they’d been forced to share a bed, but that had been weeks ago now, and they’d come to the unspoken conclusion that no amount of awkwardness between them was worth subjecting each other to sharing a bed with Sam. After two nights squashed together in a cramped and dusty mine shaft, sharing a proper bed without Sam’s wayward limbs taking up every spare inch of available space seemed like a luxury in itself.

Cas crawled under the covers, staking his claim on what he’d already come to think of as his side of the bed, and nodded off to the familiar and comforting sounds of life on the road with his family. He didn’t so much as stir when Dean laid down beside him fifteen minutes later, nor when Dean awoke an hour before him the next morning. He eventually woke to the sounds of Sam typing away on his laptop, and turned to see the blankets and pillow beside him rumpled; the only evidence that Dean had slept at all.

Sam glanced up from his typing when Cas sat up and stretched. He held up a piece of paper with a note scrawled in Dean’s handwriting. Cas squinted, trying to make out the words from the other side of the room, but Sam grinned and set the note down.

“Dean went out to get breakfast. He should be back soon,” Sam said, relieving him of the burden of asking for an explanation. “He was already gone when I got up.”

Cas nodded, pulling on a pair of socks before climbing out of bed. “Are you working on the werewolf case?”

“Yeah, there’s not much we can really do from here. But there’s not much more we can really do in Dunes Port yet either. The coroner sent copies of her reports, and it’s definitely a werewolf.”

Sam turned his laptop so Cas could see the map currently on the screen while Sam zoomed in on the seaside town with what was likely a burgeoning werewolf problem.

“The attacks all happened on the beach, at least a mile away from the surrounding forest. Local authorities thought it might be a cougar, but it would’ve had to cross through the entire town, or a least a good chunk of it, and none of the locals have spotted a cougar anywhere in the area.”

Cas crouched down and studied the map for a moment, taking in the beach lined with homes and businesses. Sam had labeled the sites of each attack with little red arrows, all within a few blocks of each other along the town’s main tourist strip. There was no way for a wild animal as large as a cougar to have traversed any part of the town from the surrounding mountainous wilderness on multiple occasions without anyone having noticed it. He stood up, stretched, and yawned.

“So whether it’s a cougar or a werewolf, it likely lives in the neighborhood closest to that beach.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, I’m guessing folks would notice if a cougar bought the house next door, so I think it’s safe to stick with the werewolf theory for now.”

Cas smiled at Sam’s back and pulled a clean set of clothes out of his bag, setting them down on the bed. Dean chose that moment to knock on the door. Or kick, rather. His hands were too full of breakfast and coffee to open it himself. Since he was already standing, Cas took the three steps to the door and let Dean in.

“That smells wonderful,” Cas said, shutting the door behind Dean and following the aroma of bacon and cheese across the room to the small table beside Sam’s desk.

Dean handed him a large cup of coffee and then opened one of the bags and began sorting out the contents. “Hand that to granola boy, would you?” he said, passing a large plastic container filled with fruit, yogurt-- and yes, granola-- to Cas. Dean dropped a plastic fork and balanced a second cup of coffee precariously atop the container.

Cas’s eyes widened in mild panic, and he set his own coffee down on the table to stop Sam’s wobbling cup from spilling before passing Sam his breakfast. Sam shared a conspiratorial nod of thanks, shook his head at Dean, and then turned back to his research.

“So what do we got?” Dean asked, sitting down and tucking in to his own breakfast, a huge Denver omelette with hash browns and bacon on the side. “Enough to justify showing up in town ahead of the full moon?”

Cas sat beside him, where Dean had set out an identically filled container for him. He’d noticed that Dean did that a lot; ordered him the same thing he got for himself when Cas wasn’t there to pick what he wanted from the menu. He hadn’t complained, because he trusted Dean’s choices for the most part. One look at the cheese-smothered eggs, and he smiled up at Dean and set to eating, humming in pleasure at the first bite. He’d noticed that Dean seemed to take his appreciation of the various foods he’d introduced him to over the last few weeks as a strange little point of pride, as if Cas’s contentment was important to him. It made the entire experience of eating that much more enjoyable for both of them.

Sam shook his head and pointed at his laptop while he washed down a bite of granola with a swig of the whipped cream-laced coffee drink Dean had ordered for Sam instead of actual coffee, because Dean could be a good brother when he wanted to. When Sam set the cup back down, suppressing an appreciative smile at his brother, knowing how Dean typically cringed at the thought of ordering such a frouffy beverage and yet ordering it anyway, Sam said, “Unless you wanna spend the next two days going door to door politely asking residents if they happen to be werewolves--”

“Or cougars,” Cas interrupted.

“Or cougars,” Sam agreed, trying to suppress his grin. “Then no. We don’t really have a lead yet.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully, trying not to laugh despite the concerned look Cas shot him. “Yeah, that sounds like a bad idea.”

“If we don’t want to be run out of town, it seems like an exceptionally poor idea,” Cas said, and Dean and Sam both grinned at him.

Dean leaned across the table and patted Cas on the shoulder. “You got the hunter instincts down, buddy.”

Cas grinned, recalling one of the first lessons Dean had ever given him in hunting, and in dealing with the local authorities. “I’m human now. Maybe someday I’ll want to be president.”

Sam snorted, and kindly explained that Cas didn’t even have a birth certificate, and why that might be an issue running for public office, but Cas wasn’t paying any attention to him. He was too busy watching the strange look of wonder and faraway recollection cross Dean’s face.

“You still remember that?” Dean asked, cutting off his brother’s rambling mid-sentence.

Cas shrugged and nodded, picking up a piece of bacon without taking his eyes off Dean. “I remember everything you’ve ever said to me.”

Dean cleared his throat as Cas bit into the bacon. Sam squirmed in his seat, the pleather cushion making a rude noise as he pointedly went back to typing something on his laptop and trying to ignore Dean and Cas.

“Uh, okay.” Dean laughed nervously under Cas’s scrutiny, and then turned his attention back to his breakfast.

They ate in silence, Dean and Cas sharing the occasional awkward glance. Cas worried that he’d made Dean uncomfortable, but he had no idea how to ask without potentially making Dean even _more_ uncomfortable, especially with Sam sitting right there. About half of Dean’s anxious glances were directed at his brother, as if he was expecting Sam to make some sort of comment to break the awkward tension. When they were through with breakfast, Dean finally broke the silence.

“So are we staying put until Friday, or is there another case somewhere between here and the werewolf we can take care of today?”

“There’s a town called Winchester Bay we could visit,” Sam replied without looking up from the article he was reading about the original attack in Dunes Port. “We could walk around town like we owned the place.”

Dean snorted and got up from the table, dumping his empty breakfast containers in the trash. “Yeah, unless they got a monster problem, no thanks.”

“To be fair, there’s not a lot of  _ anything _ between here and there,” Sam said.

“Story of my life,” Dean replied, flopping down on the bed and tossing one arm over his eyes. “What do you say, Cas?”

Cas stared at Dean for a moment, unsure what he was asking. Sam had stopped typing, as if awaiting his answer as well. When none was immediately forthcoming, Dean sat up and looked at him with expectantly raised eyebrows.

“What do I say about what, exactly?”

A little smile twitched at Dean’s mouth. “Stay here for another day or two, or head out?”

Cas frowned. It was still a new experience for Dean to even ask for his opinion this directly, as if his wishes were important and worthy of consideration. It still caught him off guard. “I’m amenable to whatever plans you make, Dean. I trust your judgment.”

Dean nodded, and Cas got the feeling that if he could still pick up prayers, he would be able to hear Dean practically screaming something in his direction in that moment. For a decision that didn’t have any sort of urgency, the tense set of Dean’s shoulders and the intensity of his gaze betrayed some other more personal importance to Cas’s response. He chose his next words very carefully.

“Though I wouldn’t mind an additional day of rest before the long drive.”

Dean relaxed immediately, letting a soft smile spread across his face as he laid back down and folded his hands atop his chest. “Sounds like a plan then. One more day of rest.”

It was still early in the day and he’d only been awake for a little over an hour, but Cas felt a warm contentment steal over him as he watched Dean dozing comfortably. He felt himself beginning to drift and caught himself yawning before shaking himself and glancing over at Sam. He was already absorbed back into his research, trying to narrow down their potential search area to something manageable for the three of them to cover during the first night of the full moon. Cas glanced back over to see Dean’s breathing had evened out and his entire body had softened in slumber.

There didn’t really seem to be anything for Cas to do, unless like Dean he intended to lie down and sleep again. He’d suggested a day of rest, but Cas wasn’t physically tired. Maybe  _ restful  _ wasn’t exactly what he needed.

Cas stood up and checked his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and phone. After one frustrating instance of leaving them behind in a different set of trousers, he’d learned the importance of that very human habit. Sam noticed what he was doing.

“You going out?”

“If there’s nothing you need my help with, I thought I’d take a short walk and stretch my legs.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think I got this covered, and Dean’s not exactly exciting company right now.”

Cas glanced back to see Dean hadn’t moved at all, and the fact Dean hadn’t made any sort of remark about Sam’s comment meant he was well and truly asleep. Cas only took a moment to wonder if Dean had slept poorly the previous night before returning his attention to Sam.

“Well, I have my phone if you need anything. I don’t think I’ll be gone long.”

“Sure. Enjoy the fresh air.”

“Thank you, Sam. I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

The motel they’d chosen, like most of the motels they choose, was on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t a difficult choice to pick a direction to walk in, as the sidewalk out front of the building only ran in one direction, so Cas set off with no particular destination in mind. He imagined that Dean had done the same that morning when he’d gone in search of breakfast.

That drew his thoughts back to Dean in general, as most of Cas’s thoughts eventually did. It wasn’t unusual for Dean to turn in later and wake up earlier than he did. Dean had never required all that much sleep, which made it even more concerning that he was now back in their room taking a nap so early in the day. Cas had been harboring a twinge of hope that Dean may have agreed to explore the town a little with him, especially after asking for his input in their travel planning, but apparently Dean still wasn’t ready for that yet.

As Cas wound his way through the little town’s version of a quaint shopping district, with an emphasis on boutique shops and casual eateries just opening for the day, he wondered idly if Dean had walked past these same shops earlier. He passed one store selling handmade soaps, and another offering whimsical garden decor, and another where customers could blend their own coffees and teas. The aroma wafting out of that one alone had been worth the walk.

Another block farther along the shady brick sidewalk, he spotted a sign for the deli where Dean had picked up their breakfast. Seeing the familiar logo from their coffee cups carefully hand-painted across the front window settled a comforting warmth in his stomach, almost as satisfying as the breakfast Dean had chosen for him had been. It was proof that Dean had walked the same route and passed by all the same shop windows. Cas felt like he’d successfully completed a covert mission, and something about that feeling twigged a memory from a time long ago when he’d followed a honeybee and uncovered the secrets of the universe in its path.

“Dean’s the honeybee now,” he thought happily as he passed by the diner and continued on.

Beyond the diner was a small arts district, the storefronts filled with paintings, ceramics, and various other handicrafts. At the end of the block sat one building that looked slightly out of place. It wasn’t a shop, but a small museum dedicated to local indigenous history. Somehow he knew that Dean had reached this spot as well. The museum had only just opened its doors for the day, and as tempted as he was to wander inside, Cas held off.

Over the long years that he’d been watching over Dean, he’d seen Dean seek out places like this. Places of knowledge, places of wonder, and of respite from the horrors of the apocalypse-- or maybe just from the horrors of life as a hunter. It took Cas a long time to understand why Dean never even mentioned his little side trips to Sam, and it took him becoming human himself to truly understand the human need for occasional solitude.

Angels were almost never entirely alone. The entire choir of Heaven was never more than a thought away, and suddenly losing that connection to thousands of others through the power of grace had made his first descent into humanity a shocking and disorienting experience. It was an entirely different experience now that he’d chosen humanity for himself, knowing what to expect and welcoming it. 

But Sam and Dean had spent nearly their entire lives in very close quarters; living out of the Impala and impermanent motel rooms. There was very little true privacy or solitude to be had, unless they carved it out for themselves.

The first time Cas had observed Dean’s ritual had been several weeks after he’d resurrected Dean from Hell, and almost immediately after he’d completed his mission to take Dean back to 1973 to let him discover what Heaven needed to know about Mary’s deal with Azazel. It had been a difficult time for Sam and Dean, but for him as well. His orders from Heaven often conflicted, and he was beginning to question... everything, including himself.

Sam and Dean had just finished a devastating hunt that had resulted in the death of the hunter who’d requested their help, and Dean had told Sam that he was heading out to a local bar to drink. Sam hadn’t questioned him, but declined to join him. Cas had been torn between his desire to watch over Dean and his duty to keep tabs on Sam’s activities on behalf of Heaven. He couldn’t effectively do both if the brothers were splitting up for the night. For the first time that he could remember, his curiosity won out over his sense of obligation. It had been a strange and exhilarating night.

Dean walked past three separate bars. Cas turned back to study each one, wondering what about each of those establishments hadn’t met Dean’s needs. He’d been surprised when Dean eventually reached his intended destination, because it wasn’t any sort of a bar at all. A local farmer was holding a harvest festival, complete with carnival games, a petting zoo, a corn maze, and a pick your own pumpkin patch.

Cas watched bewildered as Dean ordered a cup of warm cider and sat on a bench overlooking a pen of frolicking goats, sipping his drink and smiling at the animals’ antics. When he stood up again, Cas noticed that some of the tension Dean had been carrying had melted away, and he strolled back to the row of games looking more relaxed than Cas had ever seen him. Surrounded by children and families out for a carefree evening in the cool autumn air, Dean had moved among them as if he’d belonged there just as much as any of those innocent civilians did; as if he could pretend for an hour or two that the fate of the world didn’t rest on his shoulders. And Cas began to understand.

Dean had played a shooting game and won a stuffed rabbit, which he presented to a little girl who’d been frightened of a man dressed as a clown. Cas watched him kneel down and hand her the toy after her mother’s consoling words had failed to calm the girl. Dean assured her it was okay to have a healthy dislike of clowns, and that it was probably an excellent life strategy overall. It made the girl smile, at least.

Sam had already been asleep by the time Dean wandered back to the motel several hours later. The next morning Dean put on an act of being mildly hung over. Sam had never questioned where he’d been and Dean never told him the truth.

Cas found it utterly perplexing at first, that Dean perpetrated this ruse on such a regular basis. There was nothing shameful or embarrassing about the sorts of things he spent his time on, which varied wildly. Regardless of where he ended up, Dean nearly always set out with the same lie-- that he was going out for a drink.

Sometimes Dean would simply drive, listening to music, singing along to whatever happened to be on the radio. Occasionally he’d stop in the middle of nowhere and lie on the hood of the Impala watching the stars. Sometimes he’d take in a film, and that had confused Cas until he understood that the sorts of films Dean tended to hide from his brother were largely categorized as  _ chick flicks _ , and despite clearly enjoying himself Dean often spoke dismissively about such films in general.

There were museums of all sorts, ranging from local historical societies to art galleries to collections of oddities. Sometimes he’d stop and play miniature golf, or sit in on classes ranging from yoga to cooking to flower arranging. Occasionally he’d sneak onto a college campus to attend a lecture, or listen to a concert in a park, or simply find a quiet spot to sit for an hour or two in a botanical garden.

He’d once visited a classic car museum with Sam, and spent the entire day enthusiastically dragging his brother from exhibit to exhibit, yet later that same afternoon Dean had slipped away to visit a different museum dedicated to children’s toys. It had taken Cas years to understand why Dean felt that one of those interests was more acceptable to admit to enjoying than the other.

Dean Winchester was a puzzle, and Cas had spent only nine short years trying to figure him out. Standing on the sidewalk in front of a quaint old house dedicated to the preservation of one tiny slice of local history, Cas finally felt as if all those years of studying Dean had revealed a fundamental secret of the universe, as profound as seeing the order of the cosmos reflected in the flight path of a single bee.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas didn’t linger long in front of the museum before turning around and slowly making his way back toward the motel. After a ten minute diversion into the pleasant smelling tea shop to custom blend a variety he hoped Dean might appreciate, he picked up his pace.  He hadn’t been gone much more than an hour, but he wanted to be present when Dean woke up. After all his stealthy detective work, it wouldn’t do to miss Dean’s inevitable announcement that he was heading out for a couple of drinks.

He’d barely been gone an hour when he opened the motel room door on a scene nearly identical to the one he’d left. Dean looked like he hadn’t moved at all, and Sam still sat at the desk quietly tapping away at his laptop, the only noticeable difference was Sam’s addition of a set of headphones. Despite having been absorbed in his podcast, Sam removed the headphones and set them on the desk when Cas opened the door. With a quick glance back to see that Dean was still sleeping, Sam frowned at his brother but still kept his voice quiet so as not to disturb him.

“Hey, Cas. You have a nice walk?”

Cas tore his eyes away from Dean and set the bag of tea on the dresser by the small coffee maker. He mentally scolded the machine for its abject failure to be a proper kettle, but took the carafe to the bathroom to fill it with water anyway.

“Yes, thank you. It was refreshing to be outdoors without a shovel in my hands.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” Sam said, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times and smirking up at Cas.

Cas poured the water into the coffee maker and switched it on. “Did you make any progress in your research?”

“Not really, but I did find out one of the town’s residents has a weekly wildlife report podcast,” he replied, pointing at the headphones he’d been wearing. “She keeps track of bear and cougar sightings, birdwatching reports, that sort of thing.”

“Let me guess. She had no reports of any wildlife in the neighborhoods around the attacks, but she’s still linked them all together and is warning listeners to be aware there may be a dangerous animal in the area.”

“You got it.” Sam replied, squinting at the bag Cas brought from the tea shop, “Thing is, she lives a couple of blocks away from the scene of the first attack. I still think it could be worth it to head up tomorrow morning and try to interview her before we drop by the police station.”

Cas hummed and pulled out the canister of tea, and then unwrapped one of the disposable coffee cups provided by the motel. “She may know something that she doesn’t realize is relevant, if she’s focused on wild animals as the source of the attacks.”

Sam’s curiosity finally got the better of him. “You bought some tea?”

“Yes. There’s a shop in town where you can customize your own blend. I thought I’d give it a try now that it doesn’t all taste like molecules.”

Sam perked up at this. “Really? You taking your taste buds out for a test drive? That’ll make Dean’s day.”

As if summoned by Sam’s use of his name, Dean snorted and blinked up at them sleepily, slowly sitting up and rubbing a hand down his face as he yawned. “What’ll make my day?”

“Cas is experimenting with tea blending.”

“Tea what now?”

Cas opened the canister of tea, strode across the room and shoved it under Dean’s nose. Dean leaned back to frown up at Cas, so Cas gave the can a little shake, encouraging Dean to take a sniff of the contents. He inhaled warily at first, but then took the can from Cas’s hands and breathed the scent in deeply, sighing with a pleased little hum before handing it back to Cas.

“Smells like pie. How’d you get tea to smell like pie?” Dean asked wonderingly.

“It’s Earl Grey with a hint of caramel, cinnamon, and apple,” Cas replied with a fond smile as he turned to fix himself a cup. “I thought you might appreciate it, even if tea is not your usual thing. It reminds me of you.”

“Because it smells like fucking apple pie,” Dean replied, standing up to get a better view of Cas’s strange tea-making process. “Does it taste as good as it smells?”

Cas shrugged. “I haven’t tried it yet.”

“Well, we gotta fix that. You mind if I give it a try too?” Dean hesitated a moment and then forged on. “I mean, you’re right that tea’s not really my thing, but hell if pie ain’t my thing.”

Cas made no reply other than unwrapping a second cup and setting one of the tea bags he’d made himself into each of them. “Would you like a cup too, Sam?”

Sam watched them both with a strange little smile on his face, but shook his head. “I’m still working through the caffeine buzz from this morning’s coffee. Maybe later.”

Cas nodded at him and Sam’s smile widened for a moment before he turned back to his laptop and replaced his headphones. Dean spared a glance at Sam, once again absorbed in his podcast, and shook his head.

“He may have found us a lead,” Cas informed him as the coffee maker beeped and he filled each cup with hot water. “A local wildlife report.”

Dean frowned at that for a split second before he could school his face back into something more neutral. “So we heading out today after all?”

“Sam suggested we leave tomorrow to speak with the podcaster before resorting to talking with the police. She lives near the scene of the first attack.”

“Not even out of the way, then.” Dean lifted his cup to inhale the fragrant steam now rising from the steeping tea. “Damn, it smells even better now.”

“Give it three more minutes to steep fully,” Cas advised him, and Dean obediently set his cup back down and glanced at his watch.

Dean stared at the steam curling up from his cup, stealing a quick glance at Sam to make sure he was still absorbed in his research before risking a glance at Cas. Cas had been watching Dean all along, and smiled when Dean cleared his throat on being caught looking back at him.

“So you went out for tea,” Dean started, and then frowned.

Cas repressed the urge to grin at Dean’s flustered attempt at a conversation. “Sam was busy and you were sleeping. I decided to go for a walk. The tea was just a pleasant bonus.”

Dean made a noncommittal affirmative noise. “If it tastes any good we should pick up some more while we’re here. Never know when we’ll find portable instant liquid pie again.”

Cas laughed at that and plucked the teabag from his cup, squeezing it out against a spoon before dumping it in the trash, and then handed the spoon to Dean. “I suspect it might taste better with a bit of honey, but I didn’t think of that while I was in the shop.”

Dean froze, frowning down at the soggy teabag before dumping it in the trash and tossing the spoon to the countertop with a clatter that had Sam shooting him an annoyed look that Dean never even noticed. He’d already crossed the room in three long strides and hauled his duffel bag up onto the bed. He dug right to the bottom of it, mussing up the neatly packed clothes in search of a small brown paper bag he clutched to his chest before taking a deep breath and then turning back to Cas.

“I, uh… picked this up a while back. When you were… um.”

Dean looked at him imploringly, and Cas’s eyes went wide with understanding. Whatever was in the bag, Dean had bought it after Cas had died. He nodded at Dean, absolving him of the need to clarify any further.

Dean walked slowly back to his side, holding out the bag for Cas to take it. Cas opened it and peered inside while Dean cast another glance back at Sam still absorbed in his podcast, and then explained in a much quieter voice.

“I was driving through Montana after… and there was this little farm stand off the side of the road. It was all painted up with flowers and bees, and well. I needed to stop anyway,” Dean said, barely able to meet Cas’s eyes as he pulled a dozen or so honey sticks in varying shades of amber out of the bag. “They were selling those. I had no idea honey even came in that many different flavors, so I got one of each. Thought it would be the sort of thing you’d do if you’d been there…”

“Dean…” Cas said, feeling the words choking up at the back of his throat, but Dean interrupted him before he could begin clearing them out again.

“I sat in the parking lot sucking down honey until I gave myself a stomachache,” Dean smiled at him, rubbing the back of his neck as if he could rub the awkward blush away. “But there’s plenty left. Thought it might go good with the pie tea.”

Cas fought down the rush of guilt and sadness, and instead tried to focus on the tentative fluttering of hope. He didn’t want to dwell on what Dean must’ve been going through at the time, and it had already cost Dean enough turmoil to recount the tale, in more ways than one. Dredging up those feelings was one thing, but it was also as close as Dean had ever come to telling him about one of his secret ventures. Cas chose to leave it entirely unremarked upon for now and focus on the present.

“It should be perfect,” he said, choosing one of the lighter-colored straws of honey and pulling the small knife Dean had given him-- _because it's more practical than trying to carry an angel sword around in your pants, Cas--_  from his pocket. He cut the tip of the straw off and squeezed half the contents into each of their cups and gave them both a stir.  He absently licked a bit of honey from his fingertip and marveled at the sweetness as he passed Dean his cup.

“Once I could’ve told you the exact percentage of each type of flower that went into that drop of honey, the precise molecular structure of it. I could’ve flown you to the field where it was created and mapped out the entire hive’s activities on the day it was stored away.”

“I’m sorry, Cas…” Dean started, but Cas cut him off with a smile and inhaled the sweetened steam rising off his cup.

“I’m not. I’d much rather be able to experience it for the miracle that it is, to simply appreciate the taste.”

“Uh…” Dean said, blinking up at him, his own cup raised almost to his lips.

“Let’s see if it tastes as good as it smells.”

Cas took a sip, and Dean just watched him for another moment before following suit. The light honey didn’t overpower the delicate hint of caramel or drown out the sharp bite of cinnamon. It was just the right touch to bring all the other flavors together.

“Damn,” Dean said, and then took another sip. “For your first shot at making tea, I’d say you made a fucking awesome apple pie, Cas.”

“The woman in the shop also suggested a blend of pecan pie flavors,” Cas replied. “I think I might go back and experiment with that before we leave tomorrow.”

A strange considering yet almost sad look flashed across Dean’s features, which he quickly schooled into a mask of nonchalance. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind trying that either.”

By the time they finished their tea, Sam had reached the end of his podcast and pulled off his headphones. He stood up and stretched, and then checked the time.

“You guys up for lunch yet?” Sam asked.

“I could eat,” Dean replied.

“You could always eat, Dean,” Sam said, sitting back down and looking up local restaurants on his laptop. “Chinese good for everyone? They’ll deliver.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be eager to get out of this room by now,” Cas said.

Sam shrugged. “It’s not a mine shaft, it’s not the car, and it’s not a hard five mile trek through the woods. I’ll take the room for another day. Especially if it’s starting to look like we might be back in the woods chasing werewolves by tomorrow night.”

They ordered food and then debated the best strategy for approaching their upcoming hunt while they waited for it. Cas noticed how Sam was letting him take the lead as much as possible, offering insight and suggestions that Sam and Dean both readily approved of. It wasn’t a particularly difficult case, but Cas appreciated their efforts to make him feel like a competent hunter.

Despite that, Cas also noticed Dean’s occasional uneasy glances. They hadn’t seemed related to his opinions or advice about their hunt, but they’d left Cas feeling uneasy himself, for reasons he couldn’t readily identify.

After devouring their late lunch and rehashing all the details of their werewolf case again, Sam announced that he’d stumbled across a few other locally-oriented podcasts and websites that he wanted to comb through. He was sure there wasn’t anything relevant to their current case, but he was always on the lookout for other regional lore they might be able to add to their collection back at the bunker. Cas watched as Dean made a mock-disgusted face at his brother, and the two bantered back and forth good-naturedly for a few minutes.

Dean cast a quick glance over at Cas and then stood up to clear the table of their empty lunch containers. “If you’re spending the afternoon ascending into nerdvana, I think I’ll head out for a drink.”

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam replied, sitting back at the desk and pulling on his headphones again. “Don’t stay out too late. We’ve got an appointment with the cougar lady in Dunes Point at noon tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, dallying over checking his phone and pulling on his jacket.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll head out with you,” Cas said after a few moments. When Dean glanced up at him, Cas amended, “I was going back to the tea shop anyway.”

Dean studied him for a moment and then nodded. “It’s a free sidewalk.”

Cas smiled and stood up. He turned back to tell Sam he’d be back later, but Sam was already absorbed in taking notes on whatever it was he was listening to.

“Don’t worry about Sammy. He’ll be in geek raptures for the rest of the afternoon,” Dean informed him, turning to open the door.

Dean stood aside to let Cas out first, and as he walked past, Cas reached up and patted Dean on the shoulder before smiling nervously to himself. Stepping over the threshold was his point of no return. Now he only hoped he wasn’t about to ruin the taste of the honey by telling Dean that he’d mapped out the flight paths of all his bees.


	4. Chapter 4

They walked in silence until they’d cleared the motel’s small parking lot and made it out to the sidewalk. Cas had been content to walk companionably in silence with Dean all the way to the tea shop, if necessary, but he didn’t need to wait nearly that long before Dean spoke up.

“So you’re gonna make more pie tea?”

Cas hummed and smiled at Dean, seizing the opportunity. “That was the plan, yes. Would you like to join me? Perhaps it would help to have the input of someone more expert at judging how pie should taste.”

Dean grinned back at him. “What, you don’t trust the tea shop lady’s opinion?”

Cas shrugged. “If she were a pie expert I assume she’d be working in a bakery instead of a tea shop.”

“You have a point there,” Dean conceded, using his outburst of laughter as an excuse to rest a hand on Cas’s shoulder.

Dean spent the remainder of their walk to the shop regaling Cas with descriptions of the best pies he’d ever eaten. They narrowed down the list of which pie flavors might make passable teas, and by the time they arrived at the little shop they were heavily invested in their little experiment. Much as Cas had anticipated, Dean hadn’t once mentioned detouring to a bar. That was encouraging, but he would still be patient with Dean. He was having far too much fun to risk ruining everything by pressuring Dean into opening up yet.

Cas pushed open the door of the shop to the delicate tinkling of bells and the earthy scent of tea flooded out in a gust of air-conditioned cool. It was mid-afternoon, but there were no other customers in the small shop, and the proprietress called out from the back room that she’d be right with them. Dean hung back by the doorway looking around at the hundreds of samples of tea lining the walls while Cas strode directly over to one particular shelf and began making his selections.

“Cas, right?” A pleasant blonde woman in her early twenties who’d reminded Cas of a much younger Mary Winchester stepped through a curtain separating the storefront from the office behind. “Are you back to work on the pecan? I take it the apple pie was a success, then? Oh,” she said, suddenly noticing that Cas wasn’t alone. “Is this your friend the pie lover?”

As she spoke, Dean had wandered over to Cas’s side in a way Cas was tempted to consider  _ possessive _ , but he let that thought go for now. “Yes, this is Dean. Dean, this is Carol, who helped me this morning.”

Dean smiled politely at her and gave a little wave while Cas kept right on talking.

“We’re going to try the pecan, but we were also wondering about cherry, and possibly pumpkin pie.”

“Ooh, yes. We sell a blend of pumpkin spice tea in the fall, but I can whip up a batch for you, no trouble at all. The cherry might be a bit more difficult if you’re starting with a black tea base, but I’m sure we can work something up that you’ll enjoy.”

Dean had seemed slightly stiff and nervous at first, but Carol’s easygoing demeanor soon put him at ease. It wasn’t long before Dean was enthusiastically participating in the conversation, joking with Cas, and letting himself enjoy the frivolity of the entire experience. By the time they left the shop half an hour later, they’d blended and sampled each of their three new varieties of instant pie, as Dean had grown fond of calling it. They’d also signed up for Carol’s email newsletter, and she assured them that she’d happily ship their favorite tea blends to them when they ran out.

As they stepped back out onto the sidewalk and the door shut behind them, Cas had worried that the carefree bubble they’d made for themselves would burst and Dean would instinctively rebuild the walls he typically kept around himself. Cas had expected it to be a long, slow process of Dean opening up to him about his secret endeavors, and he was willing to be patient for as long as it took. Even if it meant letting Dean go for the rest of the afternoon. They both stood on the sidewalk, Dean looking up and down the street as if deciding where to go next, while Cas watched Dean wrestle with himself.

“So, uh… you have anything else planned?” Dean said after a moment, and again Dean had that strange uneasy look Cas had noticed over lunch.

Cas shrugged, gazing off into the distance toward the museum he’d stopped at earlier. “I wouldn’t mind walking around for a while. There might be another interesting experience to be had.”

Dean considered that for a moment, until Cas looked back at him, and then he smiled. “I guess that beats sitting in the room watching Sam be boring. Can’t even watch tv when he gets like that.”

Cas hummed in agreement and set off walking. Much to his gratification, Dean followed. When Cas detoured into the shop selling fragrant soaps, Dean teased him about smelling like flowers-- or worse, smelling like Sam-- but he still followed Cas inside. They left with several bars of a variety labeled  _ hunter’s soap _ that had made the both of them pause and grin at one another. It smelled like a deep cedar forest with a hint of anise, which Dean had declared  _ very manly _ , and that had sealed the deal.

Unlike their awkward indecision upon leaving the tea shop, there was no pause to question what they’d do next. They continued down the street together without hesitation, laughing about their manly hunter soap and already looking for their next experience. When they passed by the cafe where Dean had bought their breakfast there was some discussion about stopping there again for dinner, but they kept right on walking for now. With every step, Cas grew more certain that he hadn’t made a grave error in thinking Dean might be ready to talk about his secret little hobby. At the very least, Dean seemed perfectly content to share in it with Cas, even if neither of them had acknowledged what they were really doing with actual words.

If there was one thing that Cas had learned from watching Dean all these years, it was that Dean often preferred actions to words. He didn’t always feel comfortable expressing his feelings verbally, yet he was one of the most demonstrative people Cas had ever had the pleasure to know. Dean’s feelings were writ large across everything he did, and to truly know him all you had to do was pay attention.

Dean had always taken care of the people he loved, through gestures both large and small, and Cas felt like it was his turn to do the same for Dean. Not that he hadn’t been trying to do exactly that for years, just that he finally had a grasp of what that really meant to Dean. It wasn’t about sacrificing himself to spare Dean the burden, or making grand gestures in his name, or even having the power to heal him with a touch or smite the monster of the week with a wave of his hand. It took becoming human again for Cas to truly understand that Dean had only wanted him to stay, to be there with him. Cas had even heard Dean say those words before, but he hadn’t really understood the simplicity of them; he hadn’t understood that Dean had meant exactly what he’d said.

When he stopped outside the museum, Cas experienced a moment of silent terror that he’d been utterly mistaken again. Instead of happily following him up the steps to the front door, Dean hesitated on the sidewalk casting an unsettled glance up the road toward the next block before regarding the front door of the unassuming building with trepidation, and then nervously checking his watch. Cas stopped halfway up the steps and watched Dean shifting his weight from foot to foot like he was readying himself to make a run for it.

“If there’s something else you’d rather do, I don’t mind,” Cas offered, while silently hoping that Dean wouldn’t take him up on that offer. He’d thought they’d been doing so well, that Dean had been letting himself enjoy their outing.

“It’s just…” Dean started, looking down at his own feet. Cas descended the few steps he’d climbed and stood in front of Dean, patiently waiting for him to continue. “There’s this, um. This place down the road. They close in like an hour, and I kinda wanted to check it out.”

“Oh,” Cas replied, when Dean finally looked up at him again. He didn’t miss the pink tinge on Dean’s cheeks, and half expected Dean to insist Cas go on ahead and visit the museum instead of accompanying him. It was disappointing, but Cas wasn’t about to make Dean feel obligated to invite him along where he wasn’t wanted. He did finally understand what  _ personal space _ meant, after all. “I apologize if I’ve been keeping you from something. I suppose I could return to the room…”

“No,” Dean said, holding up a hand to stop him from walking off just yet, despite the fact he hadn’t moved an inch. “I mean, if you don’t mind making a stop somewhere else first, uh…”

“I’m happy to do whatever you’d like, Dean,” Cas replied, sparing Dean from having to finish making the awkward invitation.

Dean gave him a relieved smile and made a contented little noise of affirmation. “Okay, then.”

They both continued to stand there for a moment, until Cas felt the need to give Dean another gentle nudge. “If time is of the essence, I think we should be going.”

“Uh, right,” Dean replied, turning pink again before setting off with a determined gait.

They’d crossed over to the next block, where the sidewalks widened and the buildings were set back farther from the road, before Cas dared to press for details. As they walked down the shady sidewalk side by side, he settled on a course of questioning that he hoped would set Dean at ease again.

“I hope I haven’t kept you from anything you’d wanted to do this afternoon,” he started.

Dean glanced up at him with that uneasy look again. It was difficult to tell in the dappled sunlight and shadows, but Cas was almost positive Dean was blushing again.

“Nah, man. I mostly just wanted to get outta the room for a while.”

Cas nodded as Dean began to slow his steps. “That’s a relief, because I’ve been having a very enjoyable day. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to indulge me.”

“Dude, no,” Dean replied, coming to a halt and grabbing Cas’s arm. “It’s been… kinda a relief. Having someone to just hang out with like this. I’m having a good time, too.”

Cas couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, and grinned even wider when Dean smiled back at him. “I’m glad. I always enjoy your company, no matter what we’re doing.”

“That’s good, because I gotta tell ya, I wasn’t sure what you’d think about this,” Dean said, and then the smile fell off his face. “But do you think you could maybe keep all this between us? I mean, all this stuff we’re doing? I told Sam I was going out for a drink, and that’s…”

Dean looked on the verge of shutting down, just as Cas felt he was on the verge of a major breakthrough. It was simple to help him over that final hurdle.

“I understand, Dean. You know I’ve been watching over you for years. I took your safety very seriously in those early days, and I…” he trailed off, almost afraid to look directly at Dean for fear that, despite having kept his secret all these years, Dean would resent the invasion of privacy regardless. Cas frowned down at Dean’s knees, watched Dean’s feet shuffle closer to his own, and felt Dean’s hand tentatively settle on his shoulder, and then slowly slide around his back in a half hug.

“And you went all Invisible Girl and followed me out when I said I was gonna go get wasted, huh?”

Cas took a deep breath. He could hear the smile in Dean’s voice, but he just shrugged, still too humanly embarrassed to look up him. “I was worried that you’d be vulnerable if you were intoxicated.”

Dean gave his shoulders a little jostling squeeze and laughed. “So you  _ were _ perching on my shoulder. And all these years, you never spilled a word of it to anyone? Aaw, I gotta admit, that makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy, Cas.”

“When I could,” Cas replied, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean grinned at him, but Cas could only smile back a little sadly. “I did still have my orders, and if I hadn’t disobeyed to follow you so often, we might’ve learned what Ruby was up to sooner.”

“Nope,” Dean said. “We’re not gonna talk about all that shit today, you hear? Water under the bridge, you and me are square, for all of it, and we’re gonna go do something fun now, capisce?”

Cas nodded and smiled back at Dean, allowing himself to let go of the last of his own anxiety. Dean grunted an affirmative and started walking again, leaving his arm slung around Cas’s shoulders as they went.

“You did occasionally go to a bar and drink, though,” Cas mused as Dean led him along. “Someday I’ll have to tell you about all the drunken misadventures I saved you from without your knowledge.”

“You what?” Dean didn’t stop walking when he reeled around to gape at Cas, but he stumbled over an uneven bit of pavement and Cas instinctively wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist to steady him.

“Yes, very much like that,” Cas replied, doing his best not to laugh.

“So, uh, you weren’t saving me from demons or vampires. Just my own stupidity, huh? Must’ve made a great impression. The Righteous Man who couldn’t even get himself home from the bar without a heavenly escort.”

Cas smiled fondly at him. “I was already impressed by that point, Dean. Or I wouldn’t have been disobeying direct orders to study you. You were… intriguing.”

“You probably overheard a lot of pissed off grumbling about annoying angels,” Dean said. “Sorry about that, I guess.”

“Don’t be,” Cas replied. “Your complaints were valid, after all.”

“Fair enough,” Dean replied, slowing his steps again and coming to a stop outside a small pottery studio. “This is, uh… we’re here.”

Without removing his arm from Cas’s shoulders, he reached out and opened the door and gave Cas a little nudge to walk in first. He felt the loss of the weight of Dean’s arm as he moved forward, but sighed as Dean let his hand slide slowly across his back as he stepped inside.

The studio was arranged into two distinct halves. One side of the room had several tables set up with workbenches and pottery wheels where several people were working on various different projects. The surfaces were caked with muddy bits of clay and spattered with murky water, but Cas watched mesmerized as a woman shaped a spinning brown lump into a shapely vase with just a few gliding motions of deft fingers.

“If we had more time we could do the whole  _ Ghost _ thing and get our hands dirty, but seeing as it’s getting late we’ll have to settle for something a little less… messy.”

“Ghost thing?” Cas asked, turning to see Dean striding over to the other side of the studio where pieces of unfinished earthenware lined the wall on shelves from floor to ceiling. He glanced back at the potters, wondering for a moment if the shop was haunted and Dean had brought him in on a case after all, and then made the connection. “Ah, like Demi Moore.”

Dean didn’t hear him though. He’d already been approached by a woman wearing a red apron spattered with paint, asking if he’d be interested in painting a piece.

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean replied, looking over the vast array of handmade pottery until he settled on two mugs that were roughly identical. Or at least as similar as any two items in the vast collection of mismatched pottery were.

“Looks like your lucky day,” the woman said, noting Dean’s selections. “These pieces are mostly spares and odds and ends made by our apprentices, and it’s rare there’s two of anything that are similar enough to make up a slightly irregular matched set.”

“Well, that’s us,” Dean said, holding up the mugs and grinning over at Cas. “Slightly irregular matched set.”

The woman smiled fondly at both of them and then showed them to a table laid out with dozens of paint brushes, pencils, and charcoal crayons. She pointed out the shelves of paints in hundreds of hues, and asked if they were familiar with the process. Dean assured her they had everything under control.

“We’re closing in about forty-five minutes,” she reminded them. “If there’s anything else you need, just ask.”

With that she left them to their own devices. Dean picked out half a dozen different colors of paint and set to work. Cas watched him for a moment before Dean looked up at him.

“What, aren’t you gonna paint your mug?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Cas said. “I don’t know what to paint.”

Dean shrugged and continued his careful work, drawing what looked like a tiny bee. “Paint something you like, something that makes you happy. Doesn’t really matter.”

“Of course it matters, Dean.”

“Not like we’re sticking around town long enough to pick ‘em up after they’re fired. It’s just something interesting to do for half an hour.”

Cas studied Dean for another minute, noticing that Dean’s frown of concentration now looked more pinched than it had before, like his last statement wasn’t as careless an admission as Dean had tried to pass it off as.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Dean sighed, glanced up at him, and then nodded. “Couplea times. I’ve done a lot of shit before, Cas.”

“And you’ve never been able to keep the things you made,” Cas surmised, frowning right along with Dean now. He picked up a paintbrush and dabbed it into a little puddle of green paint that Dean had squeezed out onto a paper plate, and then set to work on his own mug before continuing. “Both because you had nowhere to keep them, and because keeping them would be acknowledging the fact you’d participated in such an activity in a tangible way. I see…”

Dean froze, staring up at Cas and blinking, running over and over what Cas had said. Cas paused in his painting and looked up at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No… no, you’re right. It’s just, thinking about it all, how much I always left behind because of how we lived, because of how I thought I  _ had  _ to live…”

Cas put down his brush and reached across the table to rest his hand on Dean’s wrist. “Maybe you don’t have to leave little pieces of yourself behind anymore.” He smiled up at Dean, but Dean still sat there blinking dazedly at him for a few moments.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times like he was about to say something, but he just shook his head, set down his mug and paintbrush, and stood up. Cas thought for a moment that he’d finally pushed Dean too far, and had resigned himself to watching Dean walk out the door. Instead, Dean went in search of the woman at the back of the shop. With the threat of Dean’s immediate departure resolved for the time being, Cas let himself focus on painting his own mug.

He’d never done anything like this before, and he honestly had no idea what to paint, so he decided to take Dean’s advice. He would paint the one thing that had occupied so much of his attention over the last decade. The colors Dean had chosen were insufficient for the task, and he selected a few more bottles from the shelf, squeezing them out onto the paper plate alongside Dean’s colors.

By the time Dean slumped back into his seat and picked up his brush again, Cas had made a fair bit of progress on his design. Dean tried to peer over at what he was painting, but Cas covered it with his hand.

“It’s not finished yet.”

“It’s not a test, Cas,” Dean replied with a chuckle. “Not like I can cheat off your answers or anything.”

Cas frowned at him. “I’m not ready for you to see it yet.”

“Sure thing, Picasso.” Dean set back to work, but after a few minutes he cleared his throat, not even pausing in his painting. “They’re gonna ship our mugs to us after they’re fired, by the way, so do a good job with it.”

“I’d intended to do my best right from the start, Dean.”

“Of course you did,” Dean replied, smiling now despite not even looking up from his work.

They both finished about five minutes before the shop was due to close, and Cas finally let Dean have a peek at his art. Swirls of pearlescent silvery white blended into shades of green and lavender, with splashes of other colors shining like stars dappled throughout the design.

“That’s pretty awesome, Cas,” Dean asked after a moment. “What is it, some distant nebula you saw once upon a time?”

Cas was still smiling down at the tiny garden filled with bees against a bright blue sky painted all around Dean’s mug and answered absently, “No, it’s your soul, Dean.”

Dean didn’t respond right away, and Cas looked up to see him staring back and forth between the mug and Cas with a bewildered look on his face. He realized this was not a conversation for them to have in that moment, in a crowded shop that was about to close, so Cas stood up to check with the clerk that there was nothing more they needed to do. She confirmed she’d handle everything and ship their finished mugs out as soon as they were ready. Cas thanked her again, and then collected their shopping bags and returned to Dean’s side. He was still staring down at the mug like it was something both precious and terrifying.

“Let’s go, Dean. They’re closing now.”

Dean set the mug down carefully and then followed Cas out of the shop in a daze. 


	5. Chapter 5

Traffic had picked up during the hour they'd been painting, both on the street and on the sidewalk. A combination of rush hour traffic and people out for a stroll enjoying the pleasant late-summer evening, mostly walking toward the cluster of cafes and restaurants they’d passed earlier. Instead of heading into town with the crowds, Cas took Dean by the hand and led him down the nearest quiet side street. After five minutes of silent walking, they found themselves in front of the town’s small library, set back from the road behind a plaza shaded by oak trees and tall hedges with a burbling fountain at its center. Cas led Dean to a bench in the most secluded corner of the park and sat him down. Dean was still too gobsmacked about the whole soul thing to put up much of a protest.

Cas stood for a few moments more, glancing around the quiet park, before setting down their bags and hesitantly sitting down beside Dean. He left a careful distance between them, despite the fact that Dean was still clutching his hand. Cas fretted for a second about what to do about that before finally letting their clasped hands drop to the bench between them. They sat watching the fountain bubble away for another minute or two before Dean finally broke the tense silence.

“Is that really what my soul looks like?”

Cas glanced over at Dean to see him studying the fountain like his life depended on it, a frown etched across his brow. He wasn’t sure if Dean was upset or merely curious, but Cas felt like honesty was his best course of action regardless.

“Considering it’s the first thing I’ve ever attempted to paint, I think it’s best labeled an artistic interpretation rather than a strict translation.”

Dean’s eyebrows drew closer together, but Cas could see a small uptick at the corner of his mouth, and took it as encouragement to continue.

“It’s also limited in scope as a two dimensional rendering. As well as by the palate available to me. Some of the colors of your soul don’t exist as pigments.”

Dean snorted at that and then finally turned his head enough to steal a peek at Cas.

“I hope you’re not offended, but you did suggest I paint something that makes me happy.”

Dean’s smile widened, and he spoke quietly, just barely louder than the fountain. “My soul makes you happy?”

“Of course it does, Dean. How could you ever doubt that?”

“I don’t know, man. I figure you’ve seen it at it’s worst. When I was a demon. Hell, when I’d spent forty years in Hell working my ass off to  _ become _ a demon. Guess I’m just wondering what the fuck’s left to like about that.”

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand and turned to face him fully. “One of the first things you did after suffering Hell’s torments was to offer comfort and encouragement to a small child who was frightened by a clown. What’s  _ not _ to like about that?”

Dean made a face like he had no idea what Cas was talking about, and then shook his head as he recalled that long-ago evening at the carnival. “How the hell did you remember that? I barely remember that.”

“I’ve told you before that I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” Cas confessed. “But I also remember everything I’ve witnessed you say to others. Whether you knew it or not.”

“Huh,” Dean replied, turning thoughtful again and resuming his frowning at the fountain.

“I understand why you need to get away by yourself sometimes, and why you need to keep the fact a secret,” Cas told him. “With everything you’ve endured, and how little of your life has truly been your own and not directly tied to some destiny or obligation or duty, this was the one thing that was entirely  _ yours _ . This escape, free from any sort of judgment or purpose or fate. I understand that, Dean. And I am profoundly humbled and grateful that you chose to share it with me today.”

Dean had closed his eyes somewhere during Cas’s confession, but at the end he gave Cas’s hand a gentle squeeze and took a long, deep breath.

“I guess you can relate, huh?” Dean started, but didn’t give Cas a chance to reply. “It didn’t start after Hell, you know. It was way before that. I mean, I was just a fucking kid, and Dad would leave me in charge of Sammy for days at a time. I used to sneak off after Sam fell asleep to go for a swim if we were lucky enough to have a pool at whatever shit motel he’d dumped us at. Or I’d steal a roll of quarters and find an arcade. I stopped for a while after I disobeyed a direct order and nearly got Sam killed, but when Dad didn’t leave me with orders, or when he wasn’t back when he said he would be, I started to risk taking off again once in a while. I just needed a fucking break sometimes.”

“Everyone does, Dean.”

Dean smiled gratefully at him, encouraged, and continued his story.

“‘Course that meant I couldn’t tell Sam about it, either. Little fucking goody two-shoes woulda told Dad, and then I’d get shit for it. Even later, and now we’re both grown-ass adults, I still like that it’s my thing, and not Sam’s. That’s just how it’s always been.”

“I have no intention of telling Sam any of this,” Cas reminded him.

“Yeah, I know. I still can’t believe you never said anything before.”

“I would never betray your trust, Dean. At least, not like that...” Cas trailed off, frowning down at Dean’s hand still wrapped tightly around his own.

“We’re not talking about that shit today,” Dean reminded him. “Today is a good day. That’s one of the rules.”

“There are rules?”

“‘Course there are. Everything’s got rules, even the things that you do to break the rules. But the main rule for a day off is you gotta really enjoy yourself and not drag the shit of reality along for the ride.”

Cas laughed at that, feeling a bit of the strain melt out of his neck and shoulders as Dean went on recounting the history of his adventures.

“When Sam was old enough, I started dumping him at that shithole Plucky’s place for a couple of hours while I went to see a film, or some museum that Sam probably would’ve loved. But if I’d brought him along I wouldn’t have been able to leave reality behind, you know? Felt guilty as hell about it sometimes, but fuck it. I took care of that kid practically 24/7, and sometimes I just needed to not think about it for an hour or two. I was just a kid myself.”

“I know, Dean,” Cas said softly.

“When Sam ditched out for Stanford, things got a lot worse for a while. Dad tightened the reins on me for a few months, probably to make sure I didn’t cut and run too. When he realized I had nowhere else to go and wasn’t going anywhere anyway, he gave me the Impala and fucking  _ sent _ me off on my own. I almost didn’t know what to do with myself half the time. Between hunting alone and trying to support myself on my own, it took a while to get the hang of it all. When I did, for the first fucking time in my life I didn’t have to hide anything. I didn’t have to lie to anyone about where I was going or what I was doing. I could drive up to Chicago for the day just to hear some dude give a lecture on dinosaurs. Or I could drive out to the middle of nowhere to watch a meteor shower, or see a concert, watch Shakespeare in the park, or take a cooking class or a ballroom dance class. Or hell, even a pole dance class that one time.”

Dean laughed at the memory and shook his head, grinning up at Cas.

“That does sound entertaining,” Cas offered, in awe of Dean’s varied interests.

“Just don’t ask me for a personal demonstration. I fell off the damn pole. You know the  _ whole fucking pole _ spins?”

Cas shook his head.

“Yeah, they didn’t tell me that before I grabbed on and tried to spin myself around it. Centrifugal force is a thing.”

“None of us are above the laws of physics,” Cas quipped with a little laugh.

“Oh, here’s a good one. They got this NASCAR racing school thing where you can drive a real race car at the actual tracks. I blew over a grand on that one, but it was worth it. Got to drive top speed around Daytona, like 200 miles an hour. It was fucking insane.”

“That still sounds safer than the pole dancing,” Cas replied.

“Statistically, it probably was.”

Cas hummed in agreement and then frowned. “Is there anything you haven’t done?”

“There’s plenty,” Dean said after a few moments of thought, glancing down at his hand still resting in Cas’s. “Stuff I was too chickenshit to risk. Stuff I couldn’t do alone.”

“I can’t imagine that being alone would limit your options to a significant degree,” Cas replied.

“Couldn’t do this alone,” Dean said softly, lifting their still-joined hands.

“Oh! I suppose that’s true,” Cas replied, feeling his cheeks warm. It was apparently his turn to do the blushing. When he risked a glance from their hands to Dean’s face, he marveled to discover that he wasn’t alone.

“This is okay, right?”

“I believe I was the one who gripped your hand first, Dean. I should be asking you that question.”

“I figure you got blanket permission when you hauled my ass outta Hell,” Dean said, amused. “What was it you said, something about  _ gripping me tight and raising me from Perdition _ ? I might not remember everything you ever said to me, but that was pretty fucking memorable.”

Cas grinned back at him, and Dean leaned toward him enough to bump their shoulders together.

“I don’t think I ever did properly thank you for that. Don’t feel like a proper thanks when it’s followed up with a knife to the chest, anyway.”

“I don’t bear a grudge,” Cas replied. “If I’d been in your position, I probably would’ve reacted the same way, even if I didn’t understand that at the time. My people skills had never been rustier.”

“You did make an impression. I had no idea if you were there to kill me, or eat me, or possess me, and I sure as shit didn’t believe angels were a real thing.”

“I can imagine it must have been a bit intimidating…” Cas offered apologetically. “But you weren’t intimidated for long. The next time we met you had some choice words for me. You made quite an impression yourself.”

Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was sort of a dick, but in my defense, that’s generally how I deal with stuff that scares the shit outta me.”

Cas hummed in agreement. “In all fairness, it was the apocalypse. Your fears were entirely justified.”

“Thanks, though,” Dean said after a moment. “For real, for everything. And for sticking around.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Cas replied. “Thank you for letting me stick around.”

“Letting?” Dean sputtered. “Cas, you need me to spell it out for you? Maybe have it engraved on a plaque or printed on a t-shirt or something? I’ve wanted you to stay for years. I thought you got that.”

Cas swallowed hard, blinking up at Dean. “Um, yes. I know you’ve said I’m always welcome at the bunker with you and Sam, but it’s your home and I--”

“It’s your home too, Cas.  You got your own key, and your own room, and everything.”

Cas looked down at where Dean was now squeezing his hand so tightly his fingers were turning red. He swiped his thumb over Dean’s knuckles hoping that would be enough of a nudge to relax his grip without having to say anything awkward that might make Dean let go altogether. It felt too nice for Cas to want it to stop completely. Dean gasped at the gentle touch and relaxed his grip, running his own thumb across Cas’s fingers in apology.

“So we’ve been sittin’ here for half an hour holding hands, and it’s not weird, is it?” Dean asked after a minute or two of easy silence.

“I find it quite pleasant myself,” Cas replied. “You have warm hands.”

Dean let out a short laugh at that and then grinned at Cas. “I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

“We’re both very warm individuals,” Cas said confidentially, letting himself lean into Dean’s shoulder the way Dean had leaned into his.

Dean sighed, and they sat there leaning against one another. After a moment, Dean spoke barely loud enough for Cas to hear, even sitting that close. “This isn’t weird either, is it.”

It wasn’t even a question, but Cas took it as such anyway. It took an intense but short internal debate before he did, but in the end he didn’t think he was making a mistake in answering. “No, Dean. It’s definitely not weird. But for the record, bearing in mind that I’ve witnessed much of the last ten years of your extracurricular activities, I can’t imagine anything with you being  _ weird _ .”

Dean nodded absently for a few moments, and then slowly shifted in his seat, rubbing his free hand against his thigh before raising it up to Cas’s face and gently resting it against his cheek. “How about this?”

Cas looked back at Dean, astonished by the look of hopeful tenderness combined with sheer terror on Dean’s face. And he took just a small measure of comfort from the fact that they’d finally perfected synchronized blushing. It made the sense of betrayal by his own skin a little easier to bear. When he didn’t reply immediately, Dean stroked his thumb across Cas's cheekbone and then let his hand slide around to the back of his neck.

“Not weird yet?”

Cas just shook his head slowly as he watched Dean’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. Dean waited until Cas’s gaze returned to his, and then after a brief flash of panic through his eyes, Dean leaned in closer until only a few inches separated them.

“Still not weird?”

Cas stared into his eyes, hoping he wasn’t wrong about this, and then instead of answering he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Dean’s for a few brief seconds. He pulled back, his heart racing, too terrified to open his eyes. “No, still not weird.”

“God, Cas,” Dean gasped out, and then his lips were on Cas’s again.

When they finally broke apart for air, Dean rested his forehead against Cas’s. “You know those things I said I hadn’t done because I was alone and too chickenshit to do anything about?”

Cas nodded, blinking up dazedly at Dean as he tried to focus on words while his mind was still reeling from all the kissing, and Dean gently ran his fingertips up into the back of Cas’s hair.

“This is most of ‘em.”

Cas blinked as that registered, and he leaned in for another kiss before pulling back and regarding Dean more seriously, and more hesitantly. “Is this something we have to keep from Sam, too?”

“I really hope not.”

Cas grinned at him. “That would probably be weird, wouldn’t it?”

They gave themselves a few more minutes before Dean sighed and called his brother to ask if he wanted them to bring him anything for dinner. When he had Sam’s order, they gathered their things, exchanged a few more kisses, and made their way back toward the motel.

 

By the time they reached Dunes Port the next afternoon, Sam insisted they get their own room.

 

By the time they made it back to the bunker, one renegade werewolf done-and-dusted later, they didn’t even bother with separate rooms.

Two weeks later, Dean invited Cas to head into town for the afternoon. They made a stop at the post office to collect the package containing their glazed and fired mugs. The colors of Dean's soul gleamed even more brightly having been tempered by the fire of the kiln, but Cas had been in for a surprise when Dean handed him the mug he'd painted. It hadn't been visible in the shop when the paint was still wet, but some trick of the glaze or the firing had brought the small details to the surface. In the bright blue sky above the bee-filled garden, in a darker shade of blue the letters CAS and a small heart were visible now.

"You made this for me?" Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"But how?"

Dean blushed a bit, and Cas smiled because he'd seen Dean blush an awful lot over the last few weeks, and most of those memories involved things that would make Cas blush himself if he thought to long on them. "Next time we're at one of those places, I'll show you. You just gotta lay the darker letters under the paint."

Cas blinked a few times, utterly distracted from his blushworthy thoughts. "But that means you'd already painted it before you decided to have it shipped..."

Dean smirked, and gave a little embarrassed half-shrug. "Yeah, there might be stuff like that scattered around the country. There's probably a dozen folks wondering who the hell Cas was and why he never went back to pick up his pottery."

Cas smiled fondly at him, set the mug down carefully in its box, and leaned across the front seat to plant a kiss on Dean. "At least we can put an end to that particular mystery now." He smiled down at their slightly irregular matched set of mugs on the seat between them, the most beautiful soul in existence and a field of bees stealthily watched over by a partially hidden ex-angel.

 

Whenever the opportunity arises, Cas now joins Dean on all his days off. Sam’s still none the wiser about what they get up to, and he figures _he's_ probably happier that way, but he’s happy for them anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! For more of this sort of nonsense, come find me on tumblr. I'm [mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/).


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